Defect
by Shizuodere
Summary: [ Izuo ] In which Shizuo has Body Dysmorphic Disorder. In response, Izaya needs to validate said man's existence.


**Pain**. Inevitable pain was the first thing that should have been the first word to rush to mind.

At least, the mind of a _normal_ human.

_Normal_.

_Average_.

**_Humane_**.

_He was far from all_.

As verbose gesticulations had transitioned from a bottomless and abyssal turmoil of fury and rage, his hand was still left in the hole of his restroom mirror. Rufescent liquid began to imprint and seep from his now pale fist, adorned by veins popping out. The bloodied, sharp fragments of glass that only continued to lacerate him.

_Why? Why couldn't he be normal?_

His breath was shaking, vagrant of any steadiness, was brewing a bitter concoction of animosity and self-loathe.

As a matter of fact, not only was the oxygen emitting from his lungs and out of his mouth was vigorously shaking. But his whole revolting body, which was _disfigured_ and _ugly_. Umber optics were dozed, its pupils dilating and altering to the sudden blurriness as his peripheral forced him to focus only on the downpour of all of the blood that spilt on the ivory, porcelain floor, along with the glass that had lost its shine but accrued its rust. A catalyst of indignation and umbrage dug at him, dug underneath his skin as he finally clenched his eyes shut.

Blond locks had veiled away his eyes. _Good_. He didn't want to look at himself any longer.

And before he knew it, a dam broke. Cascading down from his own umber eyne, betraying his want, no. His need to be strong.

Strong.

That's all he ever was.

Ever is.

_**Strong..**_

The Monster of Ikebukuro was strong. Never weak. Had he ever been accustomed to such a life style, ascending to betwixt feign melancholy and cacophonous mendacity.

He had no time to be weak, of course.

Shizuo Heiwajima! What a strong guy!

Because that's Shizuo!

_Another punch to the already shattered mirror._

There's no weakness in Shizuo!

_Another one._

No emotion!

_Another one._

No purpose!

_Another one._

No _**purpose**_…

_The balled up fist halted._

…

Sanguinary. Absolute sanguinary.

He was a mess.

But that was fine.

Because that's what Shizuo Heiwajima is.

A complete, and utter mess.

And that's the Shizuo Heiwajima everyone knows.

…

As the said man suffered in his own tragic brevity, getting lost in his own musings and morbid reveries.

He wept silently, for the man was Shizuo Heiwajima.

And he was a complete, and utter mess.

He began to sob a little louder, audible enough for anyone at a close range to hear, for the man was Shizuo Heiwajima.

And he held little emotion, but no purpose in life.

And he was a complete, and utter mess.

He bawled, for the man was Shizuo Heiwajima.

But he wasn't fine.

He was ugly.

…

His mien was wretched, decorated sloppily with both dried and running blood, likewise as for the tears.

He finally looked in the remains of the mirror,

Ugly. That's all he ever was. Ugly. A brute. A monster. A no-life.

A mess.

His figure was skinny, sufficient amount of muscles.

Disgusting. Nauseating. It nearly made him vomit.

Some would have called him a narcissist for looking at himself in the damned mirror for 3 hours.

But that was only propaganda.

In the mirror he didn't see Shizuo Heiwajima.

In the mirror he saw a flaw.

A tremendous flaw.

A flaw made up of other flaws.

The color of his eyes were shit. His bleached hair needed to be bleached again—he hated the color blond on him, but if he were to be stuck with that brunet color, it'd be the same, plain color as his eyes. Shit.

His lips were always scowling, a prior-due line that matched his detest.

His eyebrows always scrunched up.

His pathetic figure was disgusting.

His flaws stuck out like a sore thumb, but then again.

He was a complete, and utter mess.

"_**Dammit!**_"

Another welt to the mirror, finally maiming it, finally cracked the mirror.

In the mirror, there was no Shizuo Heiwajima.

There was no mirror.

He was, but an empty husk.

For all of nothing that wasn't inside, it was outside.

And outside.

Were flaws.

"Damn-Damn—_**Damn****!**_" He romped around the restroom, not caring that the glass were jabbing and breaking into his skin—nor even when ichor spilled.

"_**I'm so-!**_"

"-_Beautiful_."

He hesitated, shock had intertwined and lace, thoroughly, with every single previous thought and sentiment. Hark, he did. He was stunned.

He was dubious if he wanted to face the other, the rapscallion.

That damned _**FLEA**_.

"_**Get away from me!**_" he growled, regretting the fact that he had choked on his words and how pitiable he sounded.

Despite the punch he thrown carelessly, the flea _caught_ it and counteracted it with a _hug_.

"_Stop this __**shit**_! What are you _**doing**_! _Let_ _**GO OF ME**_!"

The screeching man thrashed and struggled against the other, suddenly sinking in, his strength briskly slipping away and diminishing into nothing but weak attempts at hitting the other's clad chest.

By then, he was reduced to nothing but a jumbling mess of shit self-esteem, bundled hiccups and choked back tears, and a sniffling mess.

But that was fine.

He was fine.

Because he was back in the flea's arms.

Slender dactyls began to stroke his bottle blond strands, softly, as if he were a fragile porcelain doll.

The other free hand soothing and caressing his shoulder blades to the end of his back. Drawing a pattern with his finger tips every once in a while.

The gestures were…

Calming.

It made him feel like..

Shizuo.

Shizuo Heiwajima.

Because that's who he was.

A complete, and utter mess.

But Izaya, was in total control.

He was Izaya's, complete and utter mess.

And Izaya was always there, to pepper him with kisses, embracing him and showering him with a love familiar only to normal people.

But just for now.

He was humane.

Because Izaya was there, to kiss his flaws away.

"_How gauche of you, Shizu-chan._" Murmured the usual silver-tongued raven, only continuing on with his solicitous motions. His breath warm on Shizuo's head, blowing soft air on the vibrant flaxen locks.

The informant was only met with silence.

But that was quite alright with him.

Shizuo nuzzled into the other's chest, as they both clutched onto each other.

For now, action was all they need.

No words were spoken.

Nothing else.

All that resounded, were the dying weeps, and the flea kissing it all away.

* * *

><p><em>LAUGHS IZAYALY<em>/ anyway;; this was my first izuo fanfiction? so excuse me for any OOC ( other than the obvious that izayas actually being merciful and nice? ) SO hHAHAHah, i just kinda needed to vent this and i see shizuo as the type, but that's honestly just me and my thoughts;;


End file.
